318 SEPTEMBER. 



of the heath and the mountain, to dells and 

 copses, where his fine dogs plunge amid the red 

 fern and the fading leaves, and the pheasant, 

 the partridge, or the hare start forth in their 

 wild beauty ; where the tall, dry grass and 

 the autumnal tree fill the soul with their rich- 

 ness to the clear and tinkling stream that 

 stretches on alternately through the bowery 

 brake, the obscurity of the wood, and the riant 

 sunshine of open fields. Is it merely the 

 possession of his game that delights him here ? 

 The enthusiasm with which he dwells on a 

 sketch of Landseer's which merely pictures the 

 same thing to his eye, is a sufficient refutation 

 of such a notion. His every- day actions and 

 words are denials of it. He couches down for 

 a momentary rest on the hill- side, where the 

 country opens before him in pictorial loveliness. 

 He flies from the pelting shower to the hut or 

 tree, and recounts at eve by his own fire- side, 

 with his dogs basking on the hearth before 

 him, his whole day's round of adventure, with 

 every outward expression of enthusiasm, with 

 such happy and picturesque phrases, as often 

 make -the places he speaks of rise up before 

 you, and with an inward glow of happiness 

 that exclaims to itself " this is life !" I know 



